Duchess in Love (31 page)

“Please forgive us, Mr. Wapping,” she said, as they entered the schoolroom. He was bent over a stack of books.

“Are you my wife's brother?” Cam demanded.

Wapping looked up, with his abstracted look. “If you'll excuse me a moment,” he said, and returned to scratching a line of prose.

Gina sighed. She knew as well as any that Mr. Wapping,
once absorbed in the intricacies of scholarship, was remarkably single-minded.

But Cam had no respect for her tutor's idiosyncrases. He strode over to the table and snatched the quill. Ink splattered. Wapping looked up and his mouth fell open.

“What are you doing?” he cried. “I'm working on something important! I'm just reaching the end of the fourth chapter of my Machiavelli treatise. I was at a particularly delicate moment, refuting Pindlepuss's erroneous charges, and you—”

“
Are
you the duchess's illegitimate brother?” Cam said. He leaned over and put his hands squarely on the blotched treatise and its delicate refutation of Pindlepuss's work. His words were evenly spaced, and his voice was full of danger.

“As it happens, I am,” Wapping said with no apparent emotion. He rapped sharply on Cam's wrists with a ruler. Blinking, Cam straightened and took his hands off the table. Wapping began fussily blotting the inkstains, mumbling under his breath. He did not look at his sister, standing stock-still in the middle of the room.

There was a moment of silence, broken only by Wapping's mutterings as he mopped up the spilled ink.

Gina, on the other hand, had just discovered what many an elder sister could have told her about siblings: younger brothers are not necessarily a blissful addition to the family. “Why didn't you disclose yourself to me?” she said, advancing on him like a menacing angel. “Why did you go through my room? Why did you toss my belongings on the
floor
!”

Wapping glanced up. Something about her eyes seemed to alarm him more than anything had in Cam's menacing glance. He jumped to his feet and backed up. “I was looking for my mother's bequest,” he said. “There's no need to be so
agitated. I merely ascertained that you did not have the statue—”

“The Aphrodite?” Cam asked.

Wapping swiveled his head and looked at him. “Do
you
have it?”

“No. Gina had it all along. It was under a chair when you ransacked her room.”

“Why didn't you just ask me for it?” she cried. “Why didn't you introduce yourself instead of sneaking around and pretending to teach me about Italian history?”

Wapping looked truly indignant. “I did not
pretend
to teach you! For your information, you have just received a truly first class education in Machiavellian politics. In fact, if you were more diligent in your reading, you would know almost as much as I!”

Cam backed up and leaned against the wall, stifling a chuckle. Brother and sister stared at each other across the table. He was small; she was tall. Her hair was the color of a sunset, and his was the color of a brown squirrel. She was beautifully odd; he was simply odd. But the family resemblance was unmistakable. Pride and excellent workmanship must run in the family, Cam thought.

Gina chewed her lip. “Why do you want the Aphrodite?” she asked. “Cam says that it's not worth a great deal of money.”

“The statue itself probably isn't worth a tremendous amount,” Wapping agreed. “Although Franz Fabergé, the man who made it, is making quite a reputation in Paris with his hinged objets d'art.”

“Hinged!” Cam breathed. “Of course she is hinged. That's a join down her side.”

“So you wanted what was inside the statue? Jewels?” Gina snapped.

Wapping seemed unmoved by her sharpness. “I am not al
together certain what is in the statue,” he admitted. “I met my—our—mother only once, on her deathbed. She informed me that her most precious possession in the world was inside the Aphrodite, and that she was sending it to you.”

Gina bit her lip. “That was not very kind of her.”

He shrugged. “I wasn't looking for kindness. However, I desperately needed a prolonged period of research in order to complete my book. Luckily, I have made remarkable progress over the last year while tutoring you.”

“So you were hoping that she would leave you a bequest,” Cam said.

“Would that be unusual? She
was
my mother, after all, and she seems to have spared herself any exertion in raising me.”

“And you—you are my half brother?” Gina asked.

“We already agreed to that salient fact,” Wapping remarked.

“You can have the Aphrodite. I don't want it.”

“I don't want the statue,” he said with a touch of impatience.

“You can have what's inside.”

“Good,” he said. “Well, in that case, would you mind if I returned to my work? I have at least an hour of writing left before I can finish this chapter. I suggest that we meet tomorrow afternoon and open the Aphrodite at that time.”

Cam strode forward and grasped his wife's arm. He could see that she was struck dumb and would probably turn to stone gazing at her admittedly peculiar brother. “We will see you tomorrow, then, Wapping,” he said over his shoulder.

The man didn't even grunt in reply. His head was already bent over the desk, busy retracing the splotched text onto a fresh piece of paper.

When Cam pushed Gina back into his chamber again, she
didn't protest. “I can't believe he's my brother,” she whispered, leaning against the door.

“He looks just like you. You're very similar, in fact.”

“I look nothing like him!” Gina said, stung.

“It's your expressions,” Cam said smugly. “You're two of a kind.”

“Just what do you mean by that?”

“Managerial, both of you.” He chuckled. “Certain that you're doing exactly the right thing, in exactly the right way.”

Her lips set in a mulish line. “We have nothing in common. I shall hand over the jewels inside that wretched statue, and that will be an end to it.”

Cam looked at her sympathetically. “I know it was a shock, Gina. But that's not the end to it, more's the pity. The man's your brother. And I doubt there are many jewels inside the Aphrodite,” he said. “I have no difficulty believing the statue was hollowed out, but I don't believe it is stuffed with emeralds.”

“What else could it be? Countess Ligny said the Aphrodite contained her most precious possession, after all.”

“I wonder why she gave it to you, and not to him?”

“He probably looked at her with that condescending glance of his,” Gina said. “I wouldn't leave him anything either. His father must have been a pompous bore. I'll have to think of something to do with him,” Gina said, wrinkling her brow. “I wonder if—”

“
We
have to think of something,” Cam corrected her.

“Of course,” Gina agreed unthinkingly. “Perhaps if I asked—”

“Gina.”

“What?” She was deep in thought.

He sighed. “Nothing.”

“I have an idea!” she cried. “I opened a hospital at Oxford a few years ago. And I remember meeting the kindest man. I believe he was the head of Christ Church.”

“Thomas Bradfellow,” Cam put in.

“Yes, that was he! I shall write him a letter and
beg
him to take care of my brother. I only hope he remembers me,” she added doubtfully.

“He'll remember me,” Cam put in.

“Why?”

“Because I replaced the Winged Mercury in the central courtyard with a statue of Bradfellow. Lamentably, my statue was wearing only a wig,” Cam said.

“Oh,” Gina said. She started to giggle. “Was Mr. Bradford—was he as substantial then as he is now?”

“I can only imagine. He made a lovely statue. Bradfellow was a surprising good sort. He sent me down, but I heard that he put the statue in his private garden. And when I came up again the following fall, he acted as if nothing had happened.”

“So I'll write—”

“
I
will write, Gina.”

She looked startled. “Well, it would be wonderful if you would do so.”

“As soon as we marry again, Wapping will be my brother-in-law. I am not incapable of administration, you know.”

A small smile curled the edge of her mouth. “In that case, Your Grace, may I beg your help with finishing Bicksfiddle's papers tomorrow?”

He walked over to her. “I suppose,” he said, standing so close to her that her nerves crackled, “I could be persuaded.”

She licked her lips. “Persuaded? How so, my lord?”

“Damn it, Gina,” he groaned. “I'm going to have to evict you from my chamber, or I'll have you again, right here.”

Her eyes grew wide.

“Against the door,” he said hoarsely. His mouth descended on hers.

He took her silence as agreement.

S
he had just left the ballroom when a hand caught her elbow.

“Lady Rawlings,” said a harsh voice in her ear.

Esme's heart sunk. He was so tall and so—so disapproving.

“Much though I hate to interrupt you, I believe we agreed to rehearse
Much Ado
.”

She opened her mouth to refuse, but he preempted her. “I realize you may have plans”—he gave Bernie Burdett a ferocious look—“but our performance is tomorrow evening. Lady Troubridge has hung a curtain in the long drawing room.”

Bernie was a sportsman and a hunter. He never hesitated to put himself at risk when need be. However, he dropped his escort's arm as if it scalded. “I shall return to the ballroom,” he said. “Your servant.” He brushed her hand with his lips and sped to the opposite side of the room.

“I will have to fetch my copy of
Much Ado,
Lord Bonnington,” Esme said.

He bowed. “I shall escort you, if I may.”

They walked up the stairs without exchanging another word. She left him in the corridor and snatched her book off the dressing table. Then they walked back down the stairs. Esme was starting to wonder just how long he could walk in silence. He paced at her side like a moving portrait.

“Did you behave this way when you were young?” she asked.

“I beg your pardon,” he replied with glacial emphasis.

She was unable to resist the impulse to be truly rude. “Like a walking poker. It must have been quite disconcerting for your mother.
Oh, there's my darling boy—how unfortunate that he never smiles!”
Esme smirked at him.

He declined to answer.

Annoyance spread through her whole body. What right did Sebastian have to be judgmental of her friendship with Bernie? He couldn't make it more clear that he considered her a strumpet. Of course, she told herself, I
am
a strumpet. She had never seen the reason to fool herself about the consequences of her actions.

“On the other hand,” she said thoughtfully, “just imagine how my mama used to complain about me.
Look at that little daughter of mine! Only five years old and she's flirting with the gardener's boy again
.”

She glanced sideways at him. There was just a suspicion of a smile around his lips. It truly was a pity that he had such a lovely mouth.

“It's quite an interesting subject,” she continued. “I have no doubt but that Gina knew how to curtsy before she could walk.” They walked into a small room off the billiards room. “Oh, shall we practice here?”

By way of answer Sebastian strode over and turned up the lamps.

“And I expect that Gina's husband was always carving bits of wood in the messy way that boys have,” she said.
“My little brother's pockets were stuffed with fragments of wood he thought looked like ducks or boats.”

Sebastian still didn't respond, so Esme kept chattering, well aware that his presence was making her into a complete ninny. “Girton probably spent most of his time carving little statues of his nanny without her apron.”

“I wasn't aware you had a brother.”

He stood before the fireplace, looking so handsome that her heart skipped a beat.

“My little Benjamin,” she said. “He died when he was five years old.”

There was something in his expression that made her keep talking, even though she never, ever talked about Benjamin. “He got a chill. His death changed my mind about having children. For a long time I was afraid to have children of my own.”

He sat down beside her on the settee. But he didn't look at her. “You don't wish to have a child? Is that why you live apart from your husband?”

“This is a very improper conversation,” she said, trying vainly to draw herself together. The rehearsal—the whole performance—was a dreadful idea. All the time she was spending with Sebastian wasn't helping her ignore her ridiculous affection for him.

“In my experience, your conversation is invariably improper,” he noted.

Why did he have to have such a deep voice? The truth is, Esme thought, with her usual clarity, I would rather sleep with my best friend's fiancé than with any other man I have met in my entire, misspent life. This was a repulsive thought to have about oneself, and she frowned in reaction.

He put his hand on her forehead and smoothed the frown lines with his thumb. “Are you sharing a bed with Burdett?” he asked, and his voice had a harsh edge to it.

She met his eyes steadily. “No, I am not.” His shoulders relaxed imperceptibly. “But only because Bernie's mind turned out to be disappointing,” she added. “I have slept with men other than my husband. Would you like to know their names?”

“Absolutely not.” His hand dropped from her face.

“I thought you were indicating interest,” she said, her tone tranquil. Inside her mind was screaming with tension. She folded her hands in her lap. “Shall we rehearse the play, my lord, or would you like to give me a list of
your
lovers?”

There was silence. She finally had to look at him. His eyes were the dark blue of pansies. So sober, they were.

She opened her book.

“I have not yet slept with a woman, married or unmarried.” His voice was low but utterly calm.

Esme's head literally jerked in shock. “You haven't?”

“No.” He didn't seem to feel the need to elaborate.

“Why on earth not?” she breathed.

“Because I am not yet married.”

“I had no idea you—are you a Puritan?”

“No.”

She waited.

“I have never understood the folly that leads to setting up a mistress,” he remarked. “Friends of mine have broken their marriage vows and wasted their principal on opera singers. Never having met a woman who tempted me into foolish behavior, I have not followed their example.”

“Oh.” She could not quite think what to say next. “Shall we begin with the third act of
Much Ado,
my lord?”

He ignored her. “I would not break my marriage vows, had I made any.”

“That is very appropriate of you,” Esme said awkwardly.

“However, I have come to believe that Gina will stay with her husband, rather than marry me,” he said, looking down at her. “I expect she will tell me so tomorrow.”

Esme swallowed. She couldn't just sit silently. It was too treacherous, too enticing. Miles was moving back into her bed. Miles was going to father her children. She couldn't make that fact sound urgent to herself.

“Am I to understand that you have met a strumpet capable of tempting you into foolish behavior?” she managed.

“Yes.”

She stood up. “Then I wish you luck in achieving the proper degree of folly. Unfortunately, it is time to retire for the night, or we could prolong this fascinating conversation. I suggest that we continue our rehearsal in the morning.”

He caught her wrist just as she turned away. She refused to look. His eyes were too dangerous: his eyes and that lean beauty of his. She wasn't going to be his strumpet.

“You have slept with other men—” he began.

She jerked her wrist away from him. “The cardinal distinction is that when I have occasionally—occasionally, my lord—shared my bed with men, it was because I desired them. You seem to have ignored that important fact.” She walked toward the door.

He was just behind her. He didn't touch her again, though.

“I didn't say it correctly. I should have told you how beautiful you are.”

She couldn't help it: she looked over her shoulder.

He looked faintly impatient. “I was hoping that we could acknowledge our mutual attraction without attaching undue sentiment to that fact.”

She took a deep breath. “I gather by
acknowledge,
you think I should invite you to my chamber?”

He nodded. “You are an extremely intelligent woman, for all you pretend to be frivolous.”

“That is hardly the point.”

He caught her hand and pulled her around to face him. “Then what is the point, Esme? I want you. I want you as
I've never wanted any woman and you are…available. I am not married, and I don't believe that I am truly engaged to be married either. Why shouldn't you invite me to your bed? I assure you that my brain is in far better working order than Burdett's.”

“You are likely right about Gina's marriage.”

He opened his mouth and she hastily interceded.

“But not about mine, my lord. I am not available.”

“No?”

Damn him for his beauty, for the emotion in those businesslike eyes, for the way his hands on hers made her shudder with longing. “As it happens, I am returning to my husband's bed,” she said briskly. “So I am afraid that you have missed your opportunity. Strumpet today, wife tomorrow.”

His eyes narrowed. “
Returning
does not imply immediate action.” He paused.

She said nothing.

“Do I understand that you are not yet reconciled with the estimable Lord Rawlings?”

At her small nod, he reached behind her and locked the door. “Then I would be a fool to miss the small opportunity that I have, would I not?”

Eyes on hers, he stripped off his neck cloth and tossed it to the side.

Esme laughed unsteadily. “You've run amok, my lord. This is not like you—”

His body was large, a rider's body. Despite herself, she felt a deep, melting ache inside.
Hers
. No woman had touched that body. He threw his shirt over a chair.

“You cannot undress in Lady Troubridge's sitting room,” she protested. “What if someone wishes to enter?”

“They will not.” He was pulling off his right boot. Despite herself, she watched the muscles flex in his powerful back
as he bent over. “The musicians were playing a last dance when you and Burdett left the ballroom. No one is at the billiards table next door, and I feel reasonably confident that the household is preparing for bed.”

His hands went to his waistband, and her mouth went dry.

She made one last feeble protest. “I shouldn't—” but her mind was already made up. Every bone in her body told her to accept what had come her way. “Wouldn't you be more comfortable joining me in my chamber?”

He looked at her darkly. “I think not. I find the idea that you may have slept with other men in that bed uncomfortable. It is a foolish quibble, but I feel it none the less.”

She started to protest and stopped. It was none of his business that she hadn't invited a man into her bed for years, let alone during Lady Troubridge's house party.

In a moment he was stark naked. Esme's knees felt weak; she leaned against the sitting room door.

“Aren't you going to undress?” he asked.

She cleared her throat. This was truly the strangest seduction she had ever participated in. “Will you act as my lady's maid?”

He stepped closer and she felt the blood rush to her face. He was so casual in his nakedness, so confident.

“Doesn't it bother you that this is the first time you have done this?” she asked, with some curiosity.

He paused for a second in his nimble unbuttoning. “No. The process seems simple for most men, so why would it not be so for me? The action required of me does not seem complicated or difficult.” A smile played at the corner of his mouth. “I am reputed quite an athlete, Esme. I trust I shall not fail you in the field.”

He gently kissed her neck, and she felt his tongue touch her skin for an instant.

The small part of her brain that hadn't slipped into heated awareness of his body noted his incredible arrogance. Had
the man no lack of confidence in any area of his life?

She gently laid her gown over a chair and turned to face him. She was a great aficionado of French undergarments, and at the moment she was tricked out like a Parisian courtesan. Her chemise was naught but a few scraps of lace.

His eyes darkened to black. “You're exquisite.” He put a hand on her throat. It slid to her shoulder.

She turned and walked toward the couch. Reaching up, she pulled pins from her hair until it fell in a gentle swoosh to her pantalettes. Then held out her hand.

“Will you join me, my lord?”

Esme shivered with a combination of excitement and embarrassment. She had never made love in a public room. But it didn't seem to bother the proper marquess.

He pulled off her remaining garments until she was quite naked, curling her toes into the carpet.

And he just looked at her. When he spoke, his voice made her jump.

“You're the most exquisite woman I have ever seen, Esme.” He pulled her forward, into his arms.

She toppled against his chest, and he smoothed the long line of her hip and thigh, pulling her against his body.

This is the most dangerous thing I have ever done, Esme thought. But his eyes were as blue as a cloudless sky.

At some point a servant rattled the door, wishing to damp the fire for the night.

Sebastian bellowed at him.

Marquess Bonnington, widely known as the most gentlemanly gentleman of the
ton,
had lost his composure. Worse, when his companion giggled and said something very naughty in his ear, he didn't reproach her. Instead he pinned her down and said something fierce, something impolite, something that made Esme shudder and pull him, all the glorious muscled parts of him, closer.

Just because he was an athlete didn't mean that there weren't matters of finesse to learn. But great athletes are great athletes. As Esme discovered, to her great pleasure, they learn quickly. Even better, they understand that the road to perfection is a question of doing it again…and doing it again.

And perhaps, in the gray hours of dawn, one last time, if only to prove that innate athletic prowess is a valuable attribute in all sports.